Forsaken

Would God that I were dead and no more known, — 
Forgotten underneath the deep cold main, 
Freed from the thrill of joy and sting of pain! 
There I should be with silence all alone, 
To weep no more for any sweet day flown: 
I should not see the shining summer wane, 
Nor feel the blasting winter come again, 
Nor hear the autumn winds grow strong and moan; 

But time, like sea-mist screening the far deep, 
Should make each hated and loved object dim, 
And I should gaze on both with hazy sight; 
God granting this, I should no longer weep, 
But, wearied, rest beneath the clear green light, 
And surely lose in sleep all thoughts of him!